


For The Love Of A Lion

by TheRedWulf



Series: Tysan One Shots [7]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Arranged Marriage, Badass!Arya, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Family, Fuck Canon, King!Tywin, Love, OOC, Out of Character, Smut, Strong!Sansa, TySan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-05
Updated: 2019-10-05
Packaged: 2020-12-01 21:07:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20899529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheRedWulf/pseuds/TheRedWulf
Summary: AU - Medieval - In which the Great Lion, King Tywin Lannister, reluctantly weds a fiery Northern beauty...Picset is viewableHERE





	For The Love Of A Lion

**Author's Note:**

> Let's just agree to throw canon out the window here. Bye canon! Tywin is a bit younger, Sansa a bit older. This has some canon elements, but is a medieval AU. 
> 
> I thought King Tywin was fitting for my 50th posted work here.
> 
> I don't consider myself a writer. This is unbeta'd so I apologize for any errors.  
Thank you for reading!

“Who?” Sansa paled, looking up at her father’s somber expression. 

“King Tywin Lannister” her father, Lord Eddard Stark, repeated and she felt her heart sink. “The Great Lion.”

“The King” she whispered, glancing to her hands where they sat clasped in front of her. 

“It is a great honor--”

“How?” she said before she could halt the words, her hands coming up to cover her mouth. 

She could feel her mother’s hard glare from across the room as she spoke, “He is _the King_, that is _how_!”

Sansa remained unmoving, on her knees before her parents. Her mind was racing, wondering why, after all this time, that the King had decided to marry. And of all people, marry her!

She was no one special; daughter of a Northern Lord, a girl of ten and eight who had gone so long without an offer of marriage that she had been labeled untouchable. A spinster. An albatross. 

But now…

“He will come for you two days hence” her father spoke. “Upon which you will be wed in the Godswood and he will take you back to Casterly Rock.”

Sansa could only nod in response, lowering her hands from her mouth as she struggled to control her emotions. Anger. Sadness. Disbelief. 

“Now go” her mother ordered. “Pray you’ll be an obedient wife, as the Gods know you have not been an obedient daughter.”

_Obedient_ the word made her stomach roll, bile tickling the back of her throat. 

She hated being obedient. Hated it more than she hated embroidery and the forced manners of society. For once she wished she could say what she felt, say what she meant and not have to placate those of higher ranks. 

She was more than beauty. She was more than obedience. She was more than a womb to hold some nobleman’s seed and more than some demure church mouse. She was _more_. 

That, however, was a pipe dream. Especially now, as she would be wed to the King. 

This would make her Queen, she cringed as she stood, hurrying from her father’s solar and through the stone keep to the snowy retreat of the Godswood. Pulling her fur cloak over her shoulders, she sat on the bench facing the great Weirwood tree, closing her eyes as the breeze danced around her. 

King Tywin Lannister, the man who had conquered all of Westeros and Essos with a singular mind. He had waged war against the realm after they murdered his beloved wife Joanna on their wedding night. King Tywin had held his Queen of only a few hours in his arms as she died, and they said that she took his heart with her. 

King after king, queen after queen had fallen to his armies and soon he controlled every realm under the sun. Controlled them with an iron first. Rumors and gossip spoke of his ferocity, his cold manner and frozen heart. They painted him a violent, cruel man who never showed the slightest emotion. 

Sansa closed her eyes against a wave of fear. Why her, why now? 

He was much older than her, close to fifty years of age if she had to guess, and was greatly feared on the battlefield and in court alike. She could not remember seeing him in person before. So why her?

If only she could grow wings and fly away from this place, from this cage.

She prayed, harder than she had ever prayed before, for the Old Gods to give her strength, for them to guide her and help her be the best Queen that she could be. For them to still her sharp tongue and quell the fire in her heart. She prayed for freedom, more than anything she wished to be free.

She, Sansa Stark, was no ignorant, cruel girl, but a very lost young woman that had no idea how to be a Queen--a wife. A hollow title, she assumed, given that King Tywin was accustomed to ruling on his own. But one she would deign to live up to nonetheless. 

There, in the silence of the Godswood, she cried. Not making a sound, she mourned the loss of her childhood and prayed she was strong enough to face her life as a woman. As a Queen. 

Tywin sat stop his great destrier, staring at the ancient stones of Winterfell from across the rolling snow fields. They had ridden hard for a sennight to arrive here, to retrieve his bride from her family and take her back to the Rock.

His bride, he grimaced, looking away from the old keep. He had no want of a wife, but his crown demanded that he provide an heir, a son who could carry on his rule when he ceased to be. 

Because of this, and his refusal to choose a wife, his council had taken a cold, methodical approach to choosing a bride for their king. They had listed every eligible maiden in the kingdom, and worked backwards, eliminating them through rank of birth, likelihood of fertility and beauty. 

In the end, it had come down to a handful of women, and from there they had chosen a name at random. A stroke of chance had Lady Sansa Stark becoming his Queen, his bride. 

“Beautiful.”

“One of five children. Three sons!”

“Most pious.”

“Obedient.”

“Dutiful.”

All of these words have been used to describe his wife-to-be, but nothing in them sparked his interest. He did not want her, that was no secret, but he would do his duty. He _must_ do his duty to ensure peace and the continuance of the Lannister bloodline. 

It wasn’t that he was waiting for Joanna to return to him, he had long ago come to terms with losing her so soon after they had wed. He had loved her from childhood, his beautiful Jo, and the moment he put a crown upon her head he had made her a target. One that assassins had made short work of as she prepared to consummate their marriage.

Rather than a wedding night, he had held her as she bled to death, watching the life leave the only woman he could imagine loving, as her eyes closed for the final time.

“Your Grace” the voice of his Master of Arms, Barristan Selmy, cut into his thoughts as horns echoed in the distance. “It is time.” Tywin gave a nod and the others moved forward, the vanguard leading the way to Winterfell. 

They closed the distance quickly, the great gates opening to welcome them inside and reveal Lord and Lady Stark waiting for them in the courtyard. 

Tywin paid them no mind, however, as his eyes went immediately to the tall, beautiful woman behind the pair, her fiery hair standing out like a beacon in the drab, Northern world. She was tall, taller than Lady Stark and her hair was a brighter shade of red, gleaming like fire in the late afternoon sun. 

She looked, he decided, as unamused as he felt, her elegant features locked in an impassive glare as she watched them ride into the courtyard. She was beautiful, whoever she was, and clearly had a spine of Northern steel. 

Dismounting, he turned to find Lord and Lady Stark on their knees, bowing prostrate before him. The woman, however, held his eye as she reluctantly bowed; her courtesy, while given, done reluctantly so. 

He watched her bow her head before standing, returning to her full height behind Lord and Lady Stark. It was then that he noticed the cut of her jaw and the sharp line of her nose. They were a match for Lady Starks, which meant that this beauty, was _his_. 

“Winterfell is yours, Your Grace,” Lord Stark extended his hand and Tywin shook it, giving the man a nod. 

“Lord Stark” he greeted. "Lady Stark."

“I believe” Lord Stark said. “I should introduce you to our daughter, Lady Sansa Stark, Your Grace” he said and the beauty stepped forward, her hands clasped at her waist in a demure motion he found wholly forced.

“Your Grace” she lowered her gaze. 

“Lady Sansa” he moved closer, taking one of her hands in his, holding the slender flesh captive as she tried to pull away. “You are as beautiful as they say” he allowed his eyes to rake over her, taking in the deep grey, modest gown and the black leather belt at her slim waist before returning to the porcelain skin of her neck and jaw.

Her jaw clenched before she schooled her features, “Thank you, Your Grace,” she gave a small smile. “May I escort you into the Hall, Your Grace? You must be chilled and tired from your journey.”

“Of course” he agreed, appreciating the courtesy she spoke, even if she did not mean it. He would admit, he was quite surprised to see that his bride was no more enthusiastic about this match than he was. 

He offered his arm and she took it, the two of them walking into the keep proper, neither of them relenting to look at the other first.

A simpering girl with an eye full of stars about wearing a crown? Or a cold, fiery beauty with war in her eyes? If he had to be married, he knew that he much preferred the latter. The Great Lion had found something worth conquering once more in his young bride, something worth possessing. Let the games begin. 

“You’re hurting me” Sansa pleaded with her mother as she dragged her into a corner of the hall that lay empty. The sound of the feast could be heard, echoing from the Great Hall, but Sansa couldn’t pull her eyes from the fury in her mother’s expression. 

Lady Catelyn Stark had always been an impossible mother to please. A hard taskmaster and cold teacher, she was constantly pushing Sansa to be more. To be better, smarter, prettier. While Arya could run about the keep and enjoy her childhood--her life, Sansa could never run, jump or play. She had to recite poetry, prayers and learn proper manners for court. 

_“You may be half Northern, Sansa, but that is no excuse to be wild”_ Catelyn would chastise her. 

Because of this, Sansa felt the warmth leaching from her own heart, the wound bleeding inwardly until she felt nothing. Not a single thing--except for fear. And fear made her feral. 

“You will curb this childish behavior of yours this instant” her mother hissed, holding fast to Sansa’s inner elbow. 

“Like you’ve ever let me be a child” Sansa countered, bracing herself for the blow she knew was coming. 

“Lady Stark” the deep, smooth voice of the King interrupted them and Sansa looked from her mother’s raised hand to the impassive face of King Tywin, his emerald eyes locked on her mother. “May I have a word with my bride-to-be?”

“Of course, Your Grace” her mother’s expression of fury melted into a saccharine smile as she gave a curtsey and released Sansa. 

Sansa watched as her mother returned to the Great Hall, watching as King Tywin took her place before her. He reached out to take her arm, rubbing over the sore flesh that her mother had likely bruised (again). 

He was tall, imposing as he loomed over her. Her head did not quite reach his shoulder, and his shoulders were impossibly wide. His hair, once a deep golden blonde, was now liberally threaded with white, starting at the temples and in the chin area of his well-kept beard. Though his features were sharp and his forehead high, his face was handsome.

His gleaming silver and gold armor had been cast aside and he wore a deep burgundy doublet, a golden chain of office over his shoulders, each link a prancing lion. 

“Is she always like that?” the King asked but she remained silent, swallowing her words as he rubbed her arm. It was a kind gesture, one that did not fit with the stories she had been told of Tywin Lannister and she was hesitant to trust it. “You may speak freely with me, Sansa, in fact, I insist upon it.” 

“How can I know that I can trust you?” she asked. 

“Because” he released her arm but held her hand. “If we cannot trust each other, we are both in for a very long and miserable marriage.” 

“Why me? Of all the women ...why me?”

“I did not choose you, my council did” he replied and she was surprised at the answer, at his honesty. “They believe that your large family indicates that you are likely to produce heirs.”

She gave a scoff and turned away, “Examined for breeding stock. Like horseflesh.”

“I suspect, my dear, that you are far more than horseflesh” he said and she turned to meet his eyes. 

“An honest woman would tell you that I am stubborn, headstrong, not in the slightest fit to be a wife, let alone a Queen,” she held his eyes. “A dishonest one would fill your head with lies, with stories of my desire to serve as a dutiful wife. With my desire to be a Queen.”

“And what would you tell me?” 

“I am stubborn and the word ‘obedient’ makes my stomach turn, but I am not violent, nor mad. I am loyal, but not blind. I would never strike a child in anger, ever” she said firmly.

“What is it you want?” he asked. 

“I hardly know” she replied. “I have never been asked that before. It is not a question that the fairer sex has the option of, is it?”

His mouth twitched in a near smile, “I am asking you now.”

She looked to their joined hands for a second, the warmth of his calloused warrior’s hands sinking into her fingers. He had a gentle touch that rang true with the honesty in his eyes. He had seen her mother’s fury and soothed her, without having to be asked to do so. He spoke to her as a being of intelligence, his manner true and uncondescending. 

It was possible, she reasoned, that this was an act to gain her trust, to pull her to his side where he could reveal his true nature, but she had never heard rumor of his dishonesty, only his keen mind and ruthless guile.

“Sansa?” he prompted and she looked up to him. 

“Take me far away from here,” she whispered, the words rushing from her lips in a near-silent plea. “Far from this place, this gilded cage. Free me and I will--” she paused, swallowing thickly. “I will submit to you, you will not have to…” she looked away from him, unable to say the words. She flinched when his warm hand cupped her cheek, not accustomed to kindness in another’s touch. 

He guided her eyes back to his, “Tell me.”

“You will not have to rape me to have your heirs” she said, steeling her spine. 

He was silent for several moments before he gave a very slight nod, “Tomorrow we will wed, and then we will away” his thumb stroked across her cheekbone. “And I will do everything in my considerable power to ensure that you are safe and unharmed,” he said, the words carrying a heavy meaning. 

Sansa could not form words, so she did not speak. She watched him as he stroked her cheek, the odd feeling that they were conversing even though their lips did not move, settling into her stomach.

The feeling melded into the fluttering wings of hope. Something she had not felt in years. 

Hope, she found, was more terrifying than fear. 

“Queen Sansa Lannister” Arya’s voice smirked behind her and Sansa turned to look at her younger sister. Though they were as different from each other as the sun is from the moon, they had always had an odd sort of rapport.

“I do not feel like a Queen” Sansa admitted, turning back to look out over the vast Northern lands. The ramparts were a place that she often took solace, and more often than not, Arya would find her and they would indulge in companionable silence. 

“The crown sort of completes the look” Arya nodded to the golden circlet that now rest on her head. 

She had been wed some two hours ago, the King--her husband, placing a golden crown with a roaring lion on the front, a ruby in its mouth, atop her hair. Her mother had actually smiled, though her eyes were dry as bones as she watched the ceremony. 

Yesterday, she had worn deep grey and black, and today she wore a gown of ivory and gold, a roaring lion across the train of her dress. Yesterday she was a Stark, and today, a Lannister.

“What am I going to do, with you gone?” Arya asked when Sansa did not speak. 

“Hide from mother” Sansa replied. 

“I am beyond saving” Arya smirked. “I will never be a lady.” 

“You do not need to be” Sansa said sadly. “She got what she wanted. I am Queen.”

“And what about what you want?”

“I only ever wanted to be free” Sansa whispered into the icy wind. 

“I am sorry” Arya looked to her and Sansa met her sister’s eyes. “I know that you have been unhappy. It is your fault, you know, for being so pretty.”

Sansa laughed softly, “I’ve always envied you.”

“Me? The horseface girl?” Arya scoffed, resting a hand on the dagger at her waist. 

“You were allowed to do as you wish. To laugh, to run” Sansa smoothed the front of her dress, hands trembling with nerves. “You were free to be yourself.” 

“I’ll miss you terribly” Arya said and Sansa blinked away tears. 

“I’ll miss you” Sansa replied. “I am afraid.”

“You will be alright, you’re stronger than I am” Arya reached out to take one of Sansa's shaking hands in her own, the two sisters lapsing into silence as they held to each other. 

They stood together as it started to snow lightly, and when the cold became too much, they returned to the hall and wedding feast together. 

Sansa saw her husband’s eyes find her the moment she entered, her hand still clasped in Arya’s. He gave her a small nod of understanding and the two sisters moved to the fireplace to chase away the chill. 

She felt the looming presence of her husband join them a few minutes later, his hand settling on her lower back as she looked up to his face.

“Lady Arya” he said and Arya looked up at him in surprise. “You will be happy to know that I have reached an arrangement with your parents, should you find it agreeable.”

“Arrangement?” Arya’s hackles rose. 

“Once Sansa and I are settled” he said. “We will travel to King’s Landing, and at that time I would send for you to join us. Perhaps you will enjoy the city.”

“You mean--?” Sansa looked up at her husband, her heart racing. 

“I have my brother in King’s Landing, I see no reason you should not have a sister to confide in,” he explained, looking down at her.

“I agree, yes” Arya nodded. “I would prefer to remain with my sister.” 

“Then it is settled” Tywin continued and Sansa swallowed the lump in her throat, her lips curving into a true smile. Her first in a very long time.

Tywin watched his wife from his seat beside the fireplace as she unpinned and brushed her hair before loosely braiding it over one shoulder. She had already shed her golden gown and stood before him in her stays and shift, her slender form moving with graceful efficiency. 

When he had led her from the feast, she did not question him and his denial of her being alone to prepare for their wedding night. Perhaps, he inwardly grimaced, she understood the root of his motives and chose, wisely, not to comment on them. 

He had discarded his doublet and belts before sitting, relaxing in his linen shirt and trousers, finally feeling more man than King in the privacy of their room.

He was surprised as she lifted her leg to the vanity’s stool, and unbuckled a slim, silver dagger from her stocking-clad calf.

She turned to see his quizzical expression and she gave a shy smile, “A gift from Arya when I turned ten and eight.” 

“A rather useful one” he agreed. “If you know how to use it.”

“I do” she set the blade and its sheath on the vanity and lowered her foot to the floor. She did away with her corset, leaving her in her shift that did little to conceal her nudity in the firelight. 

“Good” he stated, examining her person. 

“How did you know?” Sansa asked, moving to kneel before him on the furs in front of the fire. Hesitantly, her hands came up to rest on his knees, settling on the leather of his tall boots. 

“Know?”

“That I would want Arya with me,” she elaborated. 

“I saw you two sneak to the ramparts and it was apparent that you are very close,” he explained. “Arya is a strong willed girl, and leaving her here with your mother might be a threat to the peace in my kingdom.” 

Sansa couldn’t help but laugh softly at his comment, leaning her head against his left knee, a sign of trust that he had not expected. “Arya is my only friend in this world.”

“All the more reason to have her with you” he reached out to smooth her hair, the fiery locks like silk against his palm. “The City is a lonely place, Sansa. I would not sentence you to such a prison.” 

“Thank you, Tywin” she whispered, speaking his name for the first time. 

“You are welcome” he continued to stroke her hair.

Beyond the walls of this room, his wife was cold and impassive, a facade that she held in place at the command of her shrewish lady-mother. But here, as she was with her sister, she had softened some, looking every bit the young lady that she truly was. 

She was thirty years his junior, but she had an old soul, a hard understanding of the world. Her found he admired the steel of her spine and the porcelain of her skin. She was more than he had expected as they set off for Winterfell, and he had a hope that their marriage would be warmer than any political marriage before it. 

They sat together for some time, him watching the fire from his chair as he smoothed her hair. After several minutes, Sansa shifted and then stood, her shoulders squaring as she lifted her shift over her head and set it aside. 

She stood before him in only her stockings, her porcelain nudity on display and fiery hair falling to her hips in thick waves. She was stunning, his bride, every delicious inch of her.

Parting his legs, he placed a hand on her hip to guide her between them, stroking her skin with a soft touch. She took a trembling breath as he ran his fingers over her and he smirked as her nipples pebbled in response, the soft rosy peaks calling out to him. 

“What have you been told, about tonight?” he asked as he touched the flare of her hip.

“That it will hurt” she replied. “But I should lay back and let you---” she broke off, closing her eyes for a moment before refacing him. “Let you enjoy yourself. And if I please you, you will give me a child.” 

He shook his head slightly, leaning forward to place a kiss just below her belly button, “Given your mother’s teachings, I am not surprised that she would send you into my arms with nothing but fear and cold duty” he guided her closer, bracing his elbows on his knees to nuzzle against the fiery hair at the apex of her thighs. 

“Tywin” she gasped, bracing herself on his shoulders. 

“You are quite pleasantly tall” he mused, raising one of her legs to brace it on the arm of the chair, exposing her completely to him. 

“Tywin---”

She cried out as he leaned forward to lap at her core. Her hands tunneled into his hair, clutching tightly as he licked her slowly. The room was filled with the crackling of the fireplace and her soft cries as he ate at her, smirking against her sensitive flesh as she soaked her folds and his beard. 

His sweet, virginal wife. She belonged to him now, and he would show her that he was a King who took care of his Queen. While there was no pretense of everlasting affection between them, he would do his best to ensure her happiness. 

He kept at it, teasing her relentlessly until she choked and gasped his name, coming against his mouth in hard pulses. 

“What” she panted as he pulled back, kissing her inner thigh. 

“There is more than my pleasure here, Sansa” he kissed her soft flesh. 

“I did not know….”

He leaned back, helping her to stay steady on her feet, “Do you wish to simply lay there while I take you?” he smirked. 

“No” she replied quickly. 

“Good” he reached to his breeches and unlaced the front, his wife watching intently as he freed himself. “Come” he guided her astride his lap and she reached out with a shy hand to touch him. He groaned, leaning back against the chair as her fingers danced over his length. He had been years without the touch of a woman and her delicate touch was nearly enough to unman him. 

He grasped her hips and helped her to move over him, the head of his cock brushing against her soaked folds. 

“Oh” she gasped. 

“You are in control, Sansa. This night, I will not blindly rut into you” he assured her, her eyes darkening as he aligned himself to her core. “Relax” he instructed and pulled her hips down. He nearly growled as he slipped inside of her, the heat of her surrounding him completely. 

She braced herself on his chest, fingers clenching his linen shirt as she lowered herself. He helped her to impale herself upon him, her maidenhead giving way to mark her forever as his wife. He filled her fully, her virginal channel locked around him in protest. 

“It hurts” she whimpered, leaning against his jaw. 

“I know” he smoothed his hands up her back, feeling the bumps of her spine and silk of her skin. He turned to take her lips in a soft kiss, their first since the one they shared in the Godswood. That kiss had been chaste, a cold display to appease the onlookers. But this kiss was their own, a private, sinful meeting of mouths that rippled over them both. 

He felt her relaxing into their kiss, her inner walls releasing their death grip on his cock and soothing her nerves. When she was languid against him, her tongue tangled with his, he ran his hands back to the curve of her ass, filling his hands with her flesh to rock her hips. 

“Ah” she cried into their kiss. 

He moved her slowly, a gentle shallow movement that held him deep within her. He had not imagined that they would consummate their marriage on a large chair before the fire, but here he could give her the appearance of control over their coupling. Here she could be unafraid of being pinned down, being hurt beyond the necessary tearing of her maidenhead. 

She held fast to his shirt, her body moving slowly and her mouth demanding the surrender of his own. 

When he was confident that her hips had found their rhythm, he tunneled his hands into her hair, tilting her head just enough to deepen their kiss further. Then he cupped her breasts, rolling the peaks between his fingers with careful firmness. She whimpered against him, hips circling over him and he allowed himself to sink into their lust, his release building quickly. 

When he was too far gone to hold back, he helped her to sit up over him. Her eyes held a dozen questions until he helped her to ride him in earnest. Up and down, his shaft soaked with her juices, sliding easily within her. 

Her porcelain skin was flush with desire, lips swollen, hips red from his bruising grip and her breasts bounced with each moment. All of this was enough to pull him over the edge. His hands locked on her hips, slamming her body onto his own until he had bottomed out enough to make her squirm in discomfort and he came, pouring into her with a feral growl. 

She held onto him as he filled her, her soft pants filling the room. 

Belatedly, his mind kicked into gear and when he was confident he could stand, he did, moving them to the bed where the blankets had been pulled back. He laid her across the cool material and pulled his softening cock from her body, watching their fluids and the bit of maiden’s blood soak into the sheet. 

“You could have taken control at any time” Sansa whispered, looking up at him. He nodded and she continued, “Why didn’t you?” 

“I would not have you afraid of me,” he said. “We would still be in the chair if I did not need to present this damned sheet---”

“Thank you” she whispered, her eyes softer than he had seen them before.

He pulled away long enough to shed the remainder of this clothes before moving into the large bed beside her. He pulled the blankets over them both as she lay stiffly beside him. Turning toward her, he pulled her to his chest and after a moment she relaxed, her hand coming to settle on his chest. 

“Thank you” she said once more and he stared at the ceiling as her body slipped into slumber. HIs mind, while exhausted, was quickly racing over all that had happened. The passion, the lust he had found with her, both of which were wholly unexpected. 

He made a promise to her and any Gods who were listening. He would keep her safe. Her would ensure that Sansa was safe, at all times. He promised Joanna that no Queen would meet her fate; he would not fail Sansa as he had Joanna.

Sansa could watch the sea forever, she smiled, leaning on the stone balustrade of the balcony outside the room she shared with her husband at Casterly Rock. Beyond the walls of the great house, the ocean swirled and crashed, the sound soothing as she watched the water. 

They had left for the Rock the day after their wedding, parting from her family with dutiful hugs and well wishes, She had shared a nod with her mother, nothing more was needed as the women parted now, Sansa's rank far outreaching her mother's. She promised Arya that she would see her soon before the King helped her to her mare, ensuring her sore body was well in the side-saddle before he released her. 

Their wedding night, though stilted in pain, had still been pleasurable and only a bare hint of what was to come in their marriage bed. Tywin may be a cold and unflappable ruler, but in their bed he was a man of soft passion and feral fucking. 

In their bed, he could swing from a man with his face buried in her folds to a man fucking her without reserve, wringing pleasure from both of them until they could hardly breathe. He was a man of many facets and she found she enjoyed learning all of them. 

They had been at the Rock for a sennight now, her husband seeing to the duty of the realm during the day while she explored the keep, and at night they found their pleasure together. Tomorrow, they would ride for King’s Landing where she would take up the mantle of Queen. A true Queen, at his side.

There Arya would join her and she would have a trusted friend and confidant in the city. Though, surprisingly, she did not feel as alone as she thought she would have. Tywin was both husband and, dare she say, friend. 

She still had not grown used to being a Queen. The bows and praises of those around her were foreign, strange and she did not care for them. In her heart she was still Lady Sansa, a girl that none in the North would marry. 

“My Queen” Tywin’s deep voice rumbled against her neck as his arms banded around her from behind.

“My King” she leaned against his strength, tilting her head to allow him access to her flesh unhindered. He took the silent invitation, trailing kisses across her shoulder to her neck, nibbling on her ear lobe. 

She mewled as his hand burrowed into the front of her scarlet dressing gown, cupping her breast and rolling its peak in his fingers.

“Perfection” he whispered against her neck. 

“Are your duties done for today?”

“Hardly” he held her tightly. “But I saw you from my study and couldn’t resist joining you.” 

“The realm will say I have made you lax in your duties” she countered. 

“I have duties to my wife as well as the realm” he kissed the sensitive flesh of her neck, just below her ear. 

“And what duties would those be?”

“Pleasure” he whispered. 

“I see” she said as he turned her to face him, untying the sash of her dressing down. The fabric parted to reveal that she wore nothing underneath and his emerald eyes went impossibly dark as they moved over her.

“Beautiful” he moved closer, trapping her body between his and the stone balustrade. He reached to trail his fingers over the swell of her breasts, passed her stomach to her mound, cupping her with strong fingers. “Mine” he all-but-purred as he stroked her. She would be ashamed of how wet she was already for him, but there was no shame in wanting her husband. Not when she could clearly see evidence of his arousal through the black of his breeches. 

She held his eyes as his fingers worked, another of their unspoken conversations passing between them. He teased her until she was panting for breath, close to her release and he pulled back. 

“No” she took his hand, stopping him when he moved to guide them to their room. “Here.” 

“Here?” he raised a golden brow, his mouth forming into a sinful smirk. 

“I am your lover as well as your wife and Queen, am I not?” she asked and he nodded. “Here.”

He moved forward, closing the distance between them to take her lips in a possessive, dark kiss. His arms went around her waist, hauling her against him and she whimpered frantically unlacing his leather breeches to free his cock, grasping him in firm strokes. 

“Damned siren” he lifted her to sit on the balustrade and she parted her legs and guided him to her opening, crying out as he filled her with a firm thrust. Her arms wrapped around his shoulders, holding onto him as he set a deep, powerful rhythm. 

At her back was the ocean and a long drop to the sand below, but she held to his strength as they moved together. It was depraved, perhaps, him still fully clothed and her only in her robe in the Lannisport sunshine, but it was delicious and wonderful. 

His mouth moved in tandem with his hips, tongue and cock delving into her in rhythm as she clung to him. Someone could see, the thought entered the back of her mind, but she did not care. This man was _hers_, let them see who he worshipped.

Thanks to his talented fingers, it did not take her long to be panting and sobbing through her release, her body clenching around his cock as he continued to move, prolonging the decadent sensations.

Tywin buried his face in her neck, his teeth gently biting her shoulder as he came with a feral growl, fucking her roughly before settling within her to catch his breath.

She carded her hands into his hair, smoothing the golden and white locks as they breathed, the crashing of the ocean surrounding them. Unexpected emotion clogged her chest, and she could not speak. Instead she held him tightly, her body basking in the and the heat of his touch. 

He gently kissed her collarbone and she clenched her eyes shut, praying over and over that this was not a dream from which she would awake. Praying that she would not find herself back in the cold walls of Winterfell. 

She felt him lift her body, carrying her back into their chambers and she held to his shoulders, burying her face in his neck and the lemon-leather scent of him surrounded her. 

“Arya!” Sansa moved smoothly from her husband’s side and down the steps, smiling at her younger sister who was dismounting her mare. 

“Your Grace” Arya gave a shaky curtsey before embracing her. 

“I have missed you” Sansa smiled. 

“And I you” Arya looked up at her as they pulled back. “How’s the old goat treating you?” Arya glanced over Sansa’s shoulder to where Tywin stood. 

“Arya!” she chided. 

“You look happy” Arya noted, her eyes serious. 

“I am” Sansa took her sister’s hand. “I am very happy.”

“Good, I won’t have to kill him” Arya whispered. 

“Come” she led her up the steps where Arya curtsied once more before the King. 

“Lady Arya” Tywin nodded. “Welcome to King’s Landing.” 

“Thank you, Your Grace” Arya replied. “I am happy to be welcome here, and to be back with my sister.” 

“And you are just in time for the solstice feast” Tywin offered his arm to Sansa and she took it, Arya falling into step beside them as they walked back toward the Red Keep. Sansa was very aware of all the eyes following them, as they always did when they left the Keep. 

Every week she would ride with her guards to the orphanages and poor houses, having taken over their management upon her arrival in King’s Landing. She worked closely to improve lives and care for those who needed it most, a task that provided her with more satisfaction than she had expected to have as Queen. 

Tywin trusted their management to her, and she would not fail him or their people. 

When they reached the Great Hall, Sansa parted from her husband with a soft kiss, leaving him to the Iron Throne and its duties, guiding Arya away so they could catch up on all that had passed in the last moon. 

“I am so glad to be out of Winterfell” Arya gave an exasperated sigh as they walked through the halls to the gardens. “Mother is insufferable without you there.” 

Sansa gave a small laugh, “You've had a small taste of my entire life, then.”

“Gods, she's awful” Arya glanced to the large guard that followed them, her eyes lingering on the scarring across his face. “Who’s he?”

“Ser Sandor Clegane” Sansa smiled back at him as he rolled his eyes. She knew how much he hated the title, but still he used it anyway. She had told him he better grow used to it before she used her power to give him a worse title.

“Looks mean” Arya noted. 

“A bit” Sansa replied as they sat on a shaded bench in the Royal Rose Garden. Sandor moved behind them, also in the shade close by but far enough to grant them their privacy. “How is everyone?” 

“Fine” Arya replied. “Robb is to marry a Frey girl soon, so they say, and Mother is overly worried about when you will announce a royal baby on the way.” Sansa felt her cheeks heat at the mention of a baby and looked away, “Oh, really?” Arya laughed. “Guess he’s not that old after all, eh?” 

“Arya!” Sansa chided again. “He is not old!”

“I am glad” Arya began. “That is he is good to you, that you are happy. Anyone who sees you could see that you are happy.” 

“I am” Sansa admitted. “More than I expected to be, though in truth I did not expect to be happy at all.” 

“I know” Arya took her hand, holding it gently. 

“It is beautiful here, sunny and warm” Sansa glanced around the garden. “But Tywin was right, I would grow lonely without a friend here.” 

“Father said that it was the King’s idea to being me here” Arya said. 

“He is a good man, Arya” Sansa agreed. 

“Do you love him?” Arya asked, raising a dark brow. 

“I do not know” Sansa blushed. “I certainly enjoy his company, his conversation. He has a way with words and stories, and he is kind, though if you tell anyone I am sure he will have your head” she laughed. 

“Do you think” Arya asked. “In his infinite kindness, he would allow me to train?”

Sansa nodded, “I believe so. I am sure there are many tutors in the city.”

“What about the big fucker?” Arya said and Sansa almost cringed at her sister’s language. 

“Ser Sandor?”

“Yes.”

“Well, that is an option too” Sansa laughed. 

The sisters lapsed into conversation, catching up on the moon they had missed together until the time called for them to ready themselves for dinner. Both of them anxious to attend their first solstice feast. 

“This is unexpected” the voice whispered in the empty halls of the Red Keep. Above them, the sound of revelry could be heard, music and singers alike celebrating the solstice.

“He was not supposed to become attached to her” a second, softer voice, agreed from the shadows.

“No, and he is often leaving council to see her” the first agreed. 

“Then we will see to her, as we did the last one.” 

“When?” 

“Soon. The Queen has too much influence on him.”

“She must be stopped.”

“And she will be. She will be.”

“It has to be soon, at this rate she will be with child in no time.” 

“I agree. Very soon.”

“Very soon.”

Sansa moved away from the balcony, where she had a bird’s eye view of Arya training with Sandor and Gregor, both brothers enjoying the ‘Little Pup’ as they had come to call her. Arya had been in King’s Landing for nearly three moons now and had settled in perfectly. There was more for her to achieve here, away from the quiet North, more for her to learn. 

Sansa moved back into her chambers, her maid bowing as she exited the room, leaving the Queen to her bath. She had, once again, woken feeling miserable and she knew that a warm bath would help to relax her. 

Discarding her robe, she paused in the full length mirror, her hand coming up to rest on the flesh below her belly button. It was still flat, but she knew that a child grew beneath the surface. Tywin’s child. 

She had not bled since the moon after their wedding, which meant that she had missed two moon cycles. Nothing telling, on its own, but the sickness that had come in the last few days told her that the seed was strong and had taken root. 

She hadn’t told a soul yet, keeping it her precious secret for a few more days before she told her husband. Tywin would be happy, she thought, the prospect of an heir was enough to make any man happy, wasn’t it? 

She swallowed, dropping her hand from her stomach, perhaps it could entice him to care for her, even if it was only a fraction of how she cared for him. She hadn’t intended to love her husband, and certainly hadn’t expected to, but she could not have stopped herself. Tywin, while outwardly cold was warm and gentle, strong but never violent. She had admired that, at first, and that admiration had bloomed to love. 

Turning from the mirror she was about to step into the bath when the tall, dark figure emerged from the shadows of her room. He was large, bald and sneering, his eyes vacant as they watched her. 

She dove for her robe but his hand grabbed her hair, pulling her away and throwing her against the bed. She used her hands to slow her momentum, to protect her child but her hip connected with the wooden frame and she screamed out in pain.

“Guards!” she cried but his hand covered her mouth, dragging her away. She twisted and fought in his grasp, stomping hard on his instep and when his grip faltered, she turned to knee him in the groin. He stumbled back and she dashed for her dress to rifle through the fabric. 

“You bitch!” he recovered, and stalked toward her. She felt him grab her shoulder as her own hand grasped the dagger that Arya had given her. He turned her and she used the momentum, burying the blade into the flesh of his neck with a solid movement. 

Arya had told her that the blade was sharp enough to gut a man without effort, and she had not lied. The blade sank into his throat without pause, blood spraying hot and sinister across her body.

As he choked and stumbled, she ran for the door, opening it to see her two door guards laying of the stone floor in puddles of blood. 

“Guards! Help!” she screamed and she heard the returning shouts of the Kingsguard. 

She stumbled to her robe on weak legs, pulling it over her nudity. The cream fabric soaked up the blood on her skin, the man’s blood, and she felt her stomach turn once more. 

She was bent over the chamber pot as the guards entered, throwing up her luncheon as they ensure the man was dead. 

Dead. She heaved, though she had nothing left to give. She had killed a man. 

Her legs gave out and she sank to the floor, staring blindly at her blood soaked hands and the rapidly growing pool of blood that seemed unending as it poured from the man’s neck. 

Tywin was sitting with his Small Council, arguing over shipments from Dorne when the alarm bells rang out. The others looked at each other in confusion but Tywin’s blood ran cold. 

“To the Queen!” he heard the shouts and he was running before his guards realized that it was the King who had streaked passed them. 

He used his great height and long legs to race to their private chambers. His mind conjuring every horror that could await him. Every horrible thing that could have happened to his wife, to his Sansa. 

He refused, he girded himself as he reached the hall and saw her guards on the floor, dead. He refused to watch another woman that he cared for die. He would not allow The Stranger to take her, he would not. 

Moving to the doorway he saw the enormous pool of blood and nearly puked, the only thing that saved him was the heavyset body of a man that lay in the center of it, Sansa’s small dagger in his throat. 

“The Queen” he demanded and a guard motioned to the side of the room, Sansa’s small form covered in blood, cowering besider the bathtub. “Sansa” he knelt before her, “Sansa are you hurt?” She did not move, her eyes locked on her blood soaked hands. She appeared uninjured, but he had to be sure. “Sansa” he took her shoulders and she screamed, the blood curdling sound echoing in the chambers as she twisted away from his touch. 

“Don’t touch me!” she raised her forearms to cover her face, sobbing hard enough now to shake her frame. 

“Sansa, it’s me” he whispered, reaching for her, pausing just short of touching her knee. She did not react, only sobbed and Tywin felt his fury rise. “Who is he?” he turned his fury on the guards. “Search him, now!”

The men got to work, rifling through the would-be-assassins person for any clues. Tywin grabbed a blanket from the bed and moved back to Sansa’s crying form. 

“Please be alright” she whispered, unmoving. “Please be alright” she prayed over and over. It made no sense, but still it pulled at his heart. Taking a chance, Tywin covered her shoulders with the blanket and she deflated, collapsing to the floor.

“Sansa---”

“Maester” she whispered. “I need a maester.” 

Tywin felt his stomach churn, but bid as she asked, sending a guard for a maester immediately, “Sansa” he turned back to her, this time when he reached for her she came into his arms willingly and he pulled her across his lap, holding her tightly as she sobbed. 

Arya arrived then, her eyes wide with fear as she panted for breath. She looked to the dead body on the floor before looking to where Sansa lay on his lap. 

“Is she---”

“She is well” Tywin assured his good-sister. 

“She killed him” Arya looked back to the dagger. 

“She did” Tywin nodded. “I have half a mind to give you a title for that little gift of yours.”

“Don’t you dare” Arya warned, watching the guards search the man. 

“Your Grace” a guard stood, pulling a missive from a hidden pocket in the man’s doublet.

Twin nodded to Arya who moved forward to take it, bringing it to his side where she crouched, “Read it.” 

“Its today’s date and time,” she glanced over the paper. “And a small black bird.”

Tywin felt fury course through him, “Show me” he demanded and Arya tilted the scroll toward him. There it was, the small mockingbird in black ink. “Arya” he began and she met his eyes. “Take the Kingsguard and arrest Lord Petyr Baelish. If he has fled small council, find him.”

“Can I kill him?” Arya glared. 

“Not yet” Tywin replied. “Because I doubt he is working alone, and he has information in that brain of his that we will need.” 

“Torture” Arya smirked. “Even better” she stood and strode from the room, demanding more guards as she went. 

Tywin turned his attention back to Sansa, holding her as she cried. He had nearly failed her, just as he had failed before, but she fought and she killed her attacker. His beautiful, warrior Queen. When her cries fell silent, he looked down to see her watching him, her blue eyes wide, “Sansa--”

“I didn’t tell you” she whispered. “I didn’t tell you because my name day is in three days, and I was going to tell you then. I was going to surprise you.”

“Tell me?” his heart froze in fear. 

“A baby” she blinked away fresh tears. “I carry your baby---” she sobbed. 

“Gods” he held her tighter, her face burrowing against his neck. Now her prayers and demands for a maester made no sense. She was not scared for herself, but for their child.

“A baby” she sobbed and all he could do was hold her, praying harder than he ever had in his life. 

Long ago he had held his Queen as she died, praying that she would find the peace he had failed to give her in life. But now he held his Queen, praying that their child would live. Running through the halls to reach her, he realized that he would not survive losing Sansa. He simply would not. 

The truth had hit him as hard as if he had run full force into one of the Keep’s stone walls. He had loved Joanna with the innocence of youth, but Sansa--Sansa he loved with the strength of a man. Her strength, her passion, her beauty, all of them had served to embed her in the very fiber of his heart and he knew that without her, it would cease to beat. 

He rocked her gently, trying his best to soothe her fears, all while vowing that the men who had done this would pay. They would know pain, know suffering and they would pay. 

Sansa woke slowly, the scent of roses and lavender in the air as she blinked her eyes open. It was dark, perhaps the middle of the night, so why was in the Queen’s chambers, she frowned, trying to remember when it rushed back to her and she choked on bile that rose in her throat. 

“Easy” Tywin’s voice soothed her as he sat up beside her in bed. “You’re safe.” She rolled, looking up at him as her body’s ache protested the movement, “You’re safe.” 

“I killed him” she whispered. 

“You did” he replied, laying back beside her.

She moved closer to him, sighing when his arms went around her. She remembered then that he had held her, as Arya talked with the guards, as the maester examined her, as the man had been carried away and then he had bathed her, cleaning away the blood from her skin. He had taken care of her, even though he was the King, he had bathed her before carrying her to bed. 

His hand raised to smooth her curly hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear and she smiled, “We’re going to have a baby.” 

“We are” his lips curved into a smile. 

“I am sorry I did not tell you” she whispered. 

“You wanted to surprise me, I can understand that, Sansa” he assured her. “Are you well?”

She nodded, “Sore, but well.” 

“I can send for a warm bath--”

“No” she held him close. “In the morning. It can wait. Just...stay with me, please.”

“Of course,” he replied, staying beside her. They lay in silence for several minutes before he spoke. “I am forming a Queensguard” he informed her. 

“Queensguard?”

“Female knights” he stated. “Those who can stay with you no matter the situation. I can put your sister in charge, she seems bloodthirsty enough for the task.” 

“Arya” Sansa raised her head suddenly and Tywin caught her. 

“She is handling the men who orchestrated this, I left her not an hour ago” he assured her. 

“She is?”

He nodded, “As it turns out, she is rather good under pressure, and with that needle-dagger of hers.”

“You’re indulging her” Sansa smirked. “You like her!”

“She’s grown on me” Tywin chuckled. “If I had to have an annoying little sister, I suppose she will do.”

“Tywin” she laughed, kissing him softly. His arms wrapped around her and she sank into his embrace. 

He deepened the kiss but abruptly pulled back, “I don’t want to hurt you---”

“No, I need you” she held him firmly and pulled his lips back to hers. “Please” she whispered and Tywin rolled into the cradle of her body, kissing her deeply, languidly. She wrapped her legs around him, ignoring the twinge in her hip as she pulled him close.

Braced on his elbows over her, his hands tangled into her hair as their mouths melded. She felt the desperation in his kiss and returned it in kind, both of them aware that she had nearly died today. She could have been parted from him forever and he would have never known about the life she carried in her womb. 

She ran her nails down his back and he growled, aligning his hips and filling her with a brutal thrust. She cried out, arching against him as he took her, his body imprinting upon hers, leaving its mark. 

“Ty” she held to him, her fingers digging into the muscle of his shoulders as he moved. 

“Mine” he promised. 

“Yes.”

“Mine” he repeated. She could not form words, her body lost to his. So when he slowed, his thrusts deep and slow, she nearly went wild. He leaned down to nibble on her ear and shoulder, his deep voice rumbling through her, “You’re mine, Sansa Lannister.”

“Yes” she sobbed in pleasure. 

“My Queen” he licked a trail up her throat. “My wife, my lover” he continued to the opposite side, biting into her ear lobe. “My love.” 

She choked on a scream as she came, the unexpected release hitting her and she bowed under him, his body holding her pinned to his mercy. He did not pause his movements, taking her slowly as she trembled. 

“Tywin” she turned to meet his eyes, searching the green depths for any sign of deceit or half-truth. She found none, and instead found devotion, fear and love. “Ty…”

“Mine” he kissed her deeply, his hands reaching back for hers, pinning them to the mattress over her head. She tilted her hips as he sped his movements, meeting him hard enough that the slap of their skins filled the room. 

“Please” she begged and he growled, fucking her in earnest until she felt his body shake and spill into her own. He collapsed over her, careful not to crush her, but she held him tight, pulling her hands free to hold him. 

“You are not allowed to leave me” he whispered against her ear. 

“Never” she promised. 

“If you must go” he nuzzled her cheek. “Take me with you.” 

“I love you” she blinked away tears, kissing the warm skin of his neck. 

“And I you” he pulled back to rest his forehead against hers. “My dearest Sansa. So completely unexpected but so wonderfully perfect.” 

She smoothed a hand over his beard, “My Tywin.” She held him tightly, their foreheads together as if they could share thoughts, their bodies twined together, thrumming with pleasure. The world around them could wait until morning, for now she had all she needed, right here in this bed with her. 

Sansa had, of course, long heard tale of the Great Lion’s ferocity and cold approach to war, but she had never seen cause to believe them. Not until today. Sitting on the gilded chair beside the Iron Throne, she watched as her husband addressed the court. 

He stood tall, clad in a sinister blood red and black, the golden crown atop his golden head, his eyes cold as he explained the details of her attack, explained that men had once again been sent to kill his Queen. 

His voice was hard as diamonds as he called them cowards, cursed them for attacking women and unborn children rather than coming after him. 

He descended the steps and loomed over the kneeling prisoners, the man and women who had conspired to kill her and remove her from the position as Queen. Lord Petyr Baelish, the man who had helped to orchestrate the death of Queen Joanna at a very young age, once again attacked a queen, this time one who was prepared to fight. 

Lords and Ladies alike cowered in fear as Tywin hissed a warning to any who would raise a hand to his Queen or his children. Instilling great fear into their hearts as he promised incredible pain. 

Arya stood smugly with Sandor and Gregor Clegane, the three of them an odd trio behind the prisoners. It seemed that Arya had found her wolf-pack with the Clegane brothers, the three of them a match for the three hounds on the Clegane doublets. 

Beside Sansa stood a large, blonde woman, Brienne of Tarth, she was called. She was a knight, shunned from her family for following her heart, Brienne had answered King Tywin’s summons for help and would be a constant companion of Sansa’s when he was not near. 

When his speech was through, he gave a nod to the Arya and the brothers and they escorted Lord Petyr Baelish, Lady Margaery Tyrell and her grandmother, Lady Olenna from the room and back to the black cells where they would await their execution on the morrow. 

Tywin returned to her side, offering his arm and she took it with a smile. Without a care for court, he escorted her from the room and to their private gardens, neither of them willing to deal with any more Lords and Ladies today. 

Tywin smiled from the balcony overlooking the private Royal Rose Garden. Sansa was still asleep, but the sound of laughter had pulled him from bed and here he stood, watching his sons spar with their Aunt in the garden. 

Jaime, Gerold and Tyrion, ages 14, 12 and 10 respectively, were doing their best to outwit her, but Arya simply smiled, keeping their practice swords at bay. He watched their golden heads bounce in laughter as they attacked her once more. 

It was more often than not these days, that the boys would scramble from their room across the hall to join their Aunt in the garden. The boys thought their lessons with Arya were a secret, but Tywin and Sansa both knew where their boys ran off to each morning. They weren’t complaining, it gave them a little extra time abed before the world called them to their duty. 

After their three boys, they had decided to wait a bit for their next child, to allow Sansa to regain her strength and dedicate her time to the boys as they grew. Hence why Jeyne, named for his mother, was just shy of 3 years of age, her fiery beauty a match for Sansa’s in every way. 

Tywin watched the boys for a few more minutes before he turned back to see Sansa watching him a serene smile on her face as he returned to bed. He pulled the blankets back over them and pulled her into his arms, kissing her soundly. 

“The boys are harassing their aunt again” he explained, holding her tightly. 

“Good” Sansa laughed. “They will learn well from her.” 

“Jaime is already a natural with a blade” Tywin mused about his heir. Jaime, their first born and the heir to the Iron Throne, was his sidekick. Throughout his day, Jaime could be found walking alongside him, already quite tall at four and ten, his golden-fire hair gleaming as he took in the details of the realms day-to-day. 

“They call him the 'Young Lion',” Sansa smiled. 

“A fitting name” Tywin agreed. 

“Happy Anniversary” Sansa smirked at him. 

“Fifteen years” Tywin replied. “It seems like just yesterday I was staring at Winterfell in contempt.”

Sansa laughed, kissing his bearded cheek, “And I was praying for freedom.” They had long ago discussed, and laughed at, their mutual reluctance to wed. Looking back they could see their folly, enjoy it together in light of their love-filled marriage. 

“You have your share of that, though you’ll never be free of me” he kissed her. 

“Which is fine, as I do not wish to be free of you” she replied as the handle to the door jangled and then the door creaked open. Tywin smiled at his wife, grateful they had pulled night clothes on after they made love last night. Small footsteps sounded and then the fiery curls of their precious princess appeared as she crawled up the bench and onto the great bed. 

“My darling Jeyne” Tywin laughed as their daughter crawled between them, snuggling to both of them. 

“Good morning” Sansa kissed Jeyne’s forehead, smoothing her curls. 

“Morning Momma, Poppa” Jeyne replied, burrowing under the blankets with them. 

Tywin watched their daughter make herself comfortable, curled with her back to Sansa, both of his girls watching him with identical blue eyes. Beyond their room the boys’ laughter could be heard, safe with their Aunt Arya and her ever-faithful Clegane companions. He relaxed back onto the pillows, a silent conversation passing between him and his Queen as their daughter fell back asleep between them. 

“I love you” Sansa whispered. 

“I love you” he took her hand above the blankets, both of them keeping their daughter safe. The realm and its duties could wait, for there was nothing that could pull him from this moment.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> Follow me on tumblr for pic sets and more shenanigans!  
@the-red-wulf or https://the-red-wulf.tumblr.com/


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